into a room on the ground floor, neatly but scantily furnished.
One little white object varied the grim brown monotony of the
empty table. It was a visiting-card.

With a child's unceremonious curiosity Lucy pounced on the card,
and spelled the name, letter by letter: "Z, A, N, T," she
repeated. "What does that mean ?"

Her father looked at the card, as he took it away from her, and
put it back on the table. The name was printed, and the address
was added in pencil: "Mr. John Zant, Purley's Hotel."

The mistress made her appearance. Mr. Rayburn heartily wishe d
himself out of the house again, the moment he saw her. The ways
in which it is possible to cultivate the social virtues are more
numerous and more varied than is generally supposed. This lady's
way had apparently accustomed her to meet her fellow-creatures on
the hard ground of justice without mercy. Something in her eyes,
when she looked at Lucy, said: "I wonder whether that child gets
punished when she deserves it?"

"Do you wish to see the rooms which I have to let?" she began.

Mr. Rayburn at once stated the object of his visit--as clearly,
as civilly, and as concisely as a man could do it. He was
conscious (he added) that he had been guilty perhaps of an act of
intrusion.

The manner of the mistress of the house showed that she entirely
agreed with him. He suggested, however, that his motive might